Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) by Kendel Lynn Page B

GOD.
    Dust floated everywhere and covered everything. The carpet, the drapes, the table, the wall. I started to choke. Air and sound battled for release. Breathe or scream? Breathe or scream? Panic crept from my toes to my fingertips. I stared at a large broken shard covered in Leo dust.
    My fingers shook. I couldn’t think and I couldn’t look away. The dust on the floor wasn’t dust. It was Leo. Literally Leo.
    Ten seconds slid by, then twenty. I stared in horror, torn between doing the right thing and the wrong thing. Only I had no idea which was the right thing and which was the wrong. Other than Bebe simply could not find out about this. Nor could Mr. Ballantyne. Or any person I ever met, saw, or even thought about.
    Ivana the cat brushed up against my leg. I jumped back and nearly kicked her.
    She started to creep forward. One fluffy clean white paw, then another.
    “No kitty, bad kitty,” I said and shooed her away.
    She hopped on the couch, circling in from a different angle. She squatted on the arm and watched me.
    I glanced at the clock by the window. Bebe wouldn’t be massaging forever. There was a glue gun plugged into the wall. A large spoon near the jewel box. I threw my handbag back onto the craft table and snatched up supplies. I emptied out a clear baggie of sparkly foam letters and grabbed the spoon.
    “Okay, Leo, I have to say, I’m pretty freaked out right now,” I whispered as I scooped him into the baggie. There was so much more than I ever imagined. “But I guess you’re not too pleased, either.”
    I scraped the carpet to get as much as I could. When I stirred up more dust than I could handle, I gently set the baggie on the table along with the pieces of the cookie jar. I used the glue gun to stick them back together. I got wispy glue strands in my hair and on my blouse, but I did okay with the jar.
    I checked the clock. Twenty-two minutes had passed and I wondered how long massages take. Or how long gun glue takes to dry.
    The jar seemed solid enough, as long as no one touched it. I poured Leo back into his Corral. Popped on the lid and stuck him back on the sill. Snagged a paper towel from the roll and doused it with water. “So so sorry about this Leo,” I said as I soaked him up from the carpet and walls. “I swear on all things mighty, I will make this up to you.” 
    I tossed the towel, snagged my purse, and headed for the door. I reached for my keys and saw dust on my fingertips. I stopped breathing. Don’t freak out, I thought. You made it this far. Just walk over to the sink and wash it off. Think of it as sprinkling his ashes in the sea. One step, then another, just like the kitty. I slowly made it to the sink.
    “Who are you?”
    I jumped a foot off the ground and splashed water on the floor. I was shaky and teary and nearing a breakdown, but good Lord in Heaven, my hands were clean.
    A teenaged boy stood in the kitchen doorway. He looked fresh from the beach in bright blue swim trunks. His dark curly hair was wet and he had a towel on his arm and an iPod around his neck.
    “You must be Travis. I’m Elliott with the Ballantyne. I just finished talking with your mom, and was washing up, um, from our crafting.”
    He looked around. “Is she here?”
    “Masseuse.”
    He nodded so slowly, and looked so sad, I wanted to hug him. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
    He nodded again and walked into the living room. He sank onto the sofa, spraying sand all over the pretty floral fabrics.
    I leaned against the edge of the sofa. “I know how you feel. I lost my dad when I was about your age.”
    “Really? Was he murdered by a lying bitch, too?”
    He stared at the blank TV screen and I said nothing. I knew the pain of death, but not the red hot anger that accompanies it when it arrives at the hand of someone else.
    He picked up the remote, but didn’t click the buttons.
    “We don’t know who killed him, Travis. But we’ll find out,” I said softly. “At least you weren’t